Daughter of the Salt King

by A. S. Thornton

  The jinni considered the question. “I miss the freedom. But there are times when I am grateful for the powers Masira has given me.” He looked at me.

  “Mmm, like when?”

  “Do you know what happens to water when it gets too cold?”

  I shook my head.

  “It turns hard as a rock.”

  “No it doesn’t,” I laughed.

  “It does. One of my masters had an ill child. His body burning with disease. They thought he would die if he did not cool, so I fetched the only thing that would soothe him.”

  “Which was?”

  “There are mountains far from here, tall and made of stone. They reach so far into the sky, they are covered in frozen water.”

  I stared in disbelief, thinking of dunes that the wind kept clipped.

  “Sometimes,” he said as he fanned out his hands as though revealing the ending of a marvelous story, “the pieces of the frozen water are so small they are soft like powder. You can crush them in your fingertips and they are a single drop again.

  “And there are places where the trees are so dense, you can’t see the sky. Animals with branching horns walk through the forest. Their steps are silent, and when they hold still, even if you stare at them, you cannot see them. There, when the nights grow long, the tree leaves are green no longer. They change to yellow and orange and red until the whole forest looks aflame.”

  “Lies!” I cackled. “What else?” I asked, eager to be back on the path of tales.

  He told me of places where women had hair the color of dried grass and draped only their shoulders in silk because the sun was kinder, and where men used swords that were straight as a bone. That there were places where women ruled or men had only one wife. Where different gods were worshipped and cities were made of stone. His tales were endlessly fascinating, though, like most of his stories, I did not know if I could fully trust them, so inconceivable were some.

  “If I wished for my freedom, could I live in one of those places?”

  He straightened. “Yes, and no. You can wish for your freedom, but know that wishing for something as broad as freedom is volatile. Masira might set you in the middle of your settlement, the wife of a good man and mother of three children, your sisters and mothers in neighboring tents visiting you every night. But She might place you in a village far from this, with no family or spouse but all the jewels in the world.”

  That did not seem so bad. “But I guess then I’d come back to my sisters, sell my jewels for a camel, and see them whenever I wanted.”

  “It would depend on the life that Masira grants you. You might be placed in a life where you have no sisters, no attendants, no friends, and you’re an orphan child. Freedom from one thing does not guarantee freedom from another. So, if you desire to be free, you must be specific in your words, sure of what you want freedom from. And be prepared to face the risk of having no part of the present in your future.”

  “Including you,” I said, remembering what he told me of Masira separating the jinni from his master.

  “If She wills it, then yes. Including me. That does not always happen, but it is a risk you must be prepared for.”

  Unease gnawed at me. I could not fathom saying goodbye to my sisters or mother, to Firoz. I wanted to be free of my father and his palace, but I did not want to lose the rest of my family. If I lost them and the jinni’s magic . . . unable to wish back to the way things were . . .

  I arranged wishes in my mind, testing to see all the ways Masira might interpret them. But I would never speak them aloud. It was as Saalim had said of my father, I was indulging in fantasy. Masira was too dangerous, and I did not want my fate determined by her whim.

  I was uncomfortable thinking of what could and might be, straining under the weight of the unknown.

  “In some ways, it is very tempting, but too, the risk is scary,” I said. “But it doesn’t matter anyway. How can I leave when I have so many unanswered questions? I want to know more of this powdered water and trees with leaves that fall off, then regrow.”

  He grinned. “Your interest knows no bounds I am afraid. Eventually, I will be like an emptied goatskin, nothing but echoes inside. I suppose then you’ll move on to someone else or wish for your freedom finally.” Genuine concern flitted behind his eyes.

  “I’ll just run off with that other jinni I’ve been meeting with in the afternoons. Come to me, Aten!” I called out toward the sky. I giggled.

  Saalim laughed, too. It was a beautiful sound.

  The laughter in his face died, and he grew serious. It was an expression I was familiar with. He felt the stirring of the Salt King, the arousal of his master’s fetid consciousness as it pulled itself free from sleep desperate to have the jinni at its side. Soon, the King would call, and he would be forced to answer.

  “Emel, I must go.”

  I dreaded those words every morning he was with me.

  “Is he awake?”

  “Not yet, but sleep is leaving him.”

  There was a pause.

  “I will likely not see you again for some time.”

  “I know.” An unyielding ache filled in my chest. I did not trust myself to speak again knowing that if I did, my words would betray my melancholy.

  The jinni moved into a kneel. He waited. I looked up at him. There must be a farewell more appropriate for this moment than a small smile and swift goodbye.

  “Goodbye,” Saalim said finally.

  “Goodbye then.” My words were sticky in my throat.

  Outside I heard the piercing cries of an eagle.

  “Emel.” He spoke my name softly, and there in his words was longing. His eyes held a question. His arms parted ever so slightly, an echo of the gesture he had used not too long ago to take me to the oasis. This time, I knew I was going nowhere except to him.

  I threw myself into his arms.

  Heat enveloped me, crackling like fire around my scarred back and neck. He pulled me tightly to him, an unguarded desperation in his movements, and I clasped onto him with equal intensity. My chest firmly against his, the warmth of his skin comforting in a way I did not expect.

  I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled his head next to mine, his bearded cheek scratchy against my own. “I’ll miss you,” I said into his ear.

  Saalim shifted and pulled me onto his lap. We held each other in a helix of heat and longing and something like despair. His heart beat wildly against my own.

  He pulled his head back to look at me, perhaps to say goodbye one more time. But I did not want to hear it. I did not want him to leave. I did not want the next time I saw him to be unknown. I wanted him to always be near. I wanted his wisdom and kindness and concern and stories and . . . I realized that far more than his magic, I wanted him. It was a heady feeling.

  Unthinking, I pressed my mouth to his.

  Flames licked up and down my spine. The warmth of his mouth, tasting like dust and flames, stoked an unfamiliar desire in me. I pressed on hurriedly and ferociously with the movements I had learned as an ahira. But Saalim took his fingers and pushed my face from his. Saalim was not a muhami looking to bed a woman. There was yearning in his eyes, but it was tinged with sorrow.

  “No, not like this.”

  Humiliation flooded me and burned through my cheeks.

  “Sons, I—I’m sorry.” I tried to pull away. “I’m so embarrassed, I shouldn’t have . . .”

  Saalim held me tightly. “Wait. Stop,” he begged.

  Locking my stare on the tent behind him, I stopped fighting.

  He loosened his hold on me and slowly reached back up to my face, turning me so that I looked at him again.

  “Like this,” he murmured.

  With an aching tenderness, he touched his lips to mine. He pulled away, then kissed me again, though with more insistence. Again and again, he kissed my mouth. He kissed my cheeks, my forehead, my neck. Each kiss radiating heat that settled in a deep, desperate part of me. It was nothing I had experienced wit
h a man, and I melted in his arms at his quiet devotion. A tear fell onto my cheek, and he kissed that, too.

  “Emel,” he said hoarsely between the pressing of his lips to my skin and mouth. “I am sorry, I now must—”

  And as his words fell upon my ears, so did I fall upon the sand.

  He was gone, having been called by his master. I sat, unmoving, as I caught my breath, as my stirring body quieted. I was chilled at his sudden departure. My mind swam as it did when I smoked Buraq or drank goblets of wine, except this time, it had only been the jinni’s touch, the taste of his mouth on mine, that left me whirling.

  Sitting upon the mat’s surface, where I had left the near-empty platter of fruit, was a small mound of the finest golden sand I had ever seen. Curious, I rubbed it between my fingers. It was so soft. I carefully scooped the small pile into my palm. Holding it tightly, I lay down on the mat. I painlessly folded my knees into my chest and pressed the dust to my heart, letting it fall through the coarse fabric and onto my skin. A part of him against the part of me that now, I realized with a complicated mix of fear and excitement, longed for him in a way that I hadn’t longed for anyone before.

  My thoughts drifted to the life that awaited me in the coming days: my sisters, my father, the muhamis. But between it all stood the jinni, like the sun’s golden shine through clouds.

  “Emel, come.”

  Wavering between excitement at seeing my sisters and mother again and nauseous fear of seeing Sabra and my father, I laughed when I heard Hadiyah call my name. My imprisonment was finally finished, so it was time to face my life again. My heart thudded as I left the tent for the last time.

  “My child!” Hadiyah cried, her smile creasing her glistening eyes. She wrapped her arms around me and held me tightly, her hold easing my worries. She swayed back and forth, repeatedly pressing her cheek to mine. Finally, she stepped back. “Look at you. You look . . . well!” She did not conceal her surprise. She raised an eyebrow. “I won’t ask. Let’s get you home.” She clasped my hand and led me away from the tents.

  We were alone as we returned to the palace, and it felt wrong. “No guard?”

  She peered at me. “Can’t imagine why you’d need one. You’ve learned your lesson, haven’t you?” I said nothing, but considered whether that was the whole truth.

  Never had I been away from my village for so long. To a foreigner, nothing would seem different. But to me, it was obvious. The rows of homes we passed were all closed. There were no friendly visits between neighbors or children.

  “It’s so quiet,” I said.

  Hadiyah tutted, “As it should be. The sun sets. People should be home preparing dinner for their families, not out gossiping with neighbors.”

  No, that was not it. Something was different. It was far too quiet. I peered inside the only home we passed that had its entrance drawn open and saw a man and woman who looked not much older than me. They sat side by side at a table playing a game with beads on a long wooden board with shallow grooves. They watched us as we passed as though they were assessing us. After a pause, they smiled and went back to their game.

  Hadiyah said, “I have a surprise for you.”

  “What is it?”

  “A bath.” She covered her mouth with her hand as she laughed. I had never seen her in such good spirits and told her so.

  “It is because you are finally free, my pretty child. We’ll get you cleaned up before returning to your sisters. Now, don’t hate your Hadiyah for saying this, but you smell something foul.” She fanned her nose, laughing again.

  The attendants cooed and wiped their cheeks when I arrived. They touched my shoulders, face, neck. Their ebullience a welcome homecoming. Though pleased to see them, nothing excited me as much as the sight of the tepid bath that waited in the center of the room—its copper side reflecting specks of light onto the floor. Happily, I stripped the filthy dress from my body.

  “You have gotten so soft!” Adilah exclaimed at my nudity.

  “Indeed! I thought the same. Breasts larger, bottom fuller. What were they feeding you, a full plate of dates for every meal?” Hadiyah added.

  “Something like that.” I smirked.

  I stepped into the metal basin. The scent of roses and vanilla drifting to my nose as I relaxed into the cool water. When I pulled my hair over my shoulder to submerge it in the water, gasps and groans surrounded me.

  “Oh, your poor back.”

  “What horrible scars!”

  Then Hadiyah exclaimed, “That’s enough! Silence!” Her voice was stern, angrier than I’d ever heard it, but the attendants listened. Silently, they scrubbed my hair and body, removing the grime caked onto my skin. Sweat glistened on their brows with the vigorous movements of their arms, their colorful fustans undulating.

  They prattled on about my health, on what I had missed while gone. I was grateful for the distraction. It prevented me from thinking of my impending meeting with Sabra and of seeing my father again.

  “It has been a good month for the King. Kadri and Yasamin have both been wed,” one chirped, and the other women murmured happily. “Yasamin to a local nobleman whose family spans the desert. She’s his first wife. If we are lucky, we will get to see her on occasion.”

  Slowly, I dragged my fingers through the water. I was unable to say goodbye. I would never see either of them again regardless of how close Yasamin was to the palace.

  “And what of the Altamaruq?” I said it innocently enough, but I was eager to piece together the fragmented rumors I had heard while imprisoned.

  Hadiyah clucked her tongue. “Emel! You know you should not be asking about such things. It is no business of a king’s daughter.”

  “We are safe under the King. There is no threat,” another added.

  I did not press as I pulled on a clean fustan. Though worn, it was so much thicker and softer than what I had been given to wear in the prison.

  Night had fallen, and stars flickered into existence one by one overhead. My hands shook as I neared my home. Sabra waited behind the fabric walls. What would I say to her?

  The familiar cadence of ahiran voices drifted out to the path. I listened to them for a few moments more, seeing if I could hear Sabra, before finally stepping inside.

  “Emel!”

  “Oh my, it’s Emel!”

  “Sister!”

  Their joy collided into me so fully, my concerns for my older sister were briefly forgotten. I was home with sisters that loved me. We clustered around each other, hugging fiercely. Sabra was not amongst them.

  “How are you?”

  “What was it like?”

  “Are you okay?”

  “What happened to you there?”

  “Find me a man? I’m not picky.”

  I turned to Pinar and laughed. Only when I had placated them, ensuring them of my health and promising that we could talk about it later, did the chatter die down. I retreated to my bed, removing my coverings.

  Without hands to sweep it off every night, my bed was nearly covered completely in sand. As I wiped it clean, I noticed it was unexpectedly flat. Too flat. I hurriedly pulled up my mat—where was my salt? Where was my map?

  They were missing.

  I looked around at the beds surrounding mine, hoping beyond reason that I had chosen the wrong one. My head swung back and forth across the room, my hands swept furiously across the sand.

  “I have it,” Tavi said as she kneeled beside me.

  “The salt? My map?”

  “Yes. I took them after you . . . I didn’t want anyone to find them. I worried about Sabra . . .”

  I dropped my head into my hands, overwhelmed with relief. “Thank you Tavi.” I sat down and searched for my older sister through the tables and wandering sisters in our room. She was lying on her mat, across the room from mine, with a blanket pulled tightly over her shoulders and head. So, she wanted to see me about as much as I wanted to see her.

  Tavi said, “Don’t thank me. I used half of it seasonin
g my meals each night.”

  My eyes flashed to Tavi’s, but I saw she was smiling.

  “What happened that day? After?”

  Tavi scooted close beside me, tucked her knees up to her chest, and laid her cheek against them. “She was in so much pain,” she whispered. “She didn’t want any of us to help her. She spoke only to me, and even then, it was only a few words at a time.”

  “Painful, eh?” I said.

  “Oh, Emel, I know you fared worse.” She placed her warm hand on my back. “It’s easy to forget what you went through since we did not see it ourselves. I’m sorry.” She didn’t say anything for a long time as she turned in the direction of Sabra. “It broke my heart to see her. It still does. I don’t think I could have borne it to see you both like that.”

  “Well, she did it to herself, didn’t she?”

  “How can you say that? She had no idea what would happen.”

  “How can you defend her?” I replied, speaking more loudly. A few of my sisters turned toward us. I lowered my voice. “After what she did? It was cruel.”

  Tavi nodded, but it was insincere, only to appease me. “I’m not defending her. She didn’t want that to happen. She has not had it easy, remember that.”

  “You must be joking,” I said leaning away from her, growing angry that I was to be made the enemy from this. That somehow, I was wrong to seethe.

  “She didn’t have Father’s favor, Mama’s indulgence—and don’t you even start with that. We all know that Mama loves you best. Emel, you’re just more resilient.”

  My mouth hung open, unbelieving that I was hearing those words from Tavi’s mouth. “None of that excuses what she did, Tavi.” She opened her mouth to respond, but I did not let her speak. “And I won’t let you hold me to a higher ideal because you think she’s had it harder. It’s not fair to me, and it’s not fair to her. We all are sitting in this tent together—enduring the same life.”

  Tavi looked at her feet, chewing her cheek. “I know.”

  “I can be angry, Tavi. My future has been taken from me. Do you understand I will never be wed now? There are thirty scars on my back.”